ed--"

Neither of them answered. Madame suddenly rose and went to Alvina.
She kissed her on either cheek.

"I shall protect you," she said.

Then she returned to her seat.

"What have you said to Miss Houghton?" she said suddenly to Ciccio,
tackling him direct, and speaking coldly.

He looked at Madame with a faint derisive smile. Then he turned to
Alvina. She bent her head and blushed.

"Speak then," said Madame, "you have a reason." She seemed
mistrustful of him.

But he turned aside his face, and refused to speak, sitting as if he
were unaware of Madame's presence.

"Oh well," said Madame. "I shall be there, Signorino."

She spoke with a half-playful threat. Ciccio curled his lip.

"You do not know him yet," she said, turning to Alvina.

"I know that," said Alvina, offended. Then she added: "Wouldn't you
like to take off your hat?"

"If you truly wish me to stay," said Madame.

"Yes, please do. And will you hang your coat in the hall?" she said
to Ciccio.

"Oh!" said Madame roughly. "He will not stay to eat. He will go out
to somewhere."

Alvina looked at him.

"Would you rather?" she said.

He looked at her with sardonic yellow eyes.

"If you want," he said, the awkward, derisive smile curling his lips
and showing his teeth.

She had a moment of sheer panic. Was he just stupid and bestial? The
thought went clean through her. His yellow eyes watched her
sardonically. It was the clean modelling of his dark, other-world
face that decided her--for it sent the deep spasm across her.

"I'd like you to stay," she said.

A smile of triumph went over his face. Madame watched him stonily as
she stood beside her chair, one hand lightly balanced on her hip.
Alvina was reminded of Kishwegin. But even in Madame's stony
mistrust there was an element of attraction towards him. He had
taken his cigarette case from his pocket.

"On ne fume pas dans le salon," said Madame brutally.

"Will you put your coat in the passage?--and do smoke if you wish,"
said Alvina.

He rose to his feet and took off his overcoat. His face was
obstinate and mocking. He was rather floridly dressed, though in
black, and wore boots of black patent leather with tan uppers.
Handsome he was--but undeniably in bad taste. The silver ring was
still on his finger--and his close, fine, unparted hair went badly
with smart English clothes. He looked common--Alvina confessed it.
And her heart sank. But what was she to do? He evidently w